Invisible
by SweetDeamon
Summary: "I'm invisible to you. Sometimes I think you don't realise I even exist." RLNT Super Fluff! Because we all love a bit of fluff once in a while, don't we?
1. Tonks

_Note: This is a piece of Epic Fluff, because I'm stuck on my chaptered fics and I'm feeling a little soppy for some reason that even I haven't figured out yet..._

_I hope you like it! XD Thank you to anybody kind enough to leave me a review. You make me smile! =)_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making any profit from this piece of writing._

**Invisible**

I am the sort of person who is difficult to miss. I stick out in a crowd, that's me, the one everybody spots a mile off, the one so bright I blind them. It's been that way all my life and I like it that way. Mum used to say having brightly coloured rainbow hair was just awfully attention seeking, but I have never agreed. I'm not seeking attention, I'm just being me. It's true.

It used to be true.

And it's ironic, don't you think, that the one time I hope to grab somebody's attention I suddenly appear to be invisible to them?

I'm invisible to you. Sometimes I think you don't realise I even exist.

For somebody who doesn't exist, I interact with you a great deal. I've sat next to you at every Order meeting for the past two months, we've made each other cups of tea and we've had plenty of chats over coffee in the mornings, or sandwiches for lunch. We've stayed up late with Sirius, kept him company until he fell asleep before the fire having drunk too much at dinner. Each time the two of us would be sat upon the sofa, side by side, talking in whispers so as not to wake my cousin, and I'd stare into the warm glow of the fire and think this would be romantic if you weren't so utterly blind.

A few times I've caught myself thinking foolishly that you might not be quite as oblivious as you first seem; when you hold doors open for me and _say ladies_ first with a wonderfully warm smile that makes me grin at you like an idiot, or when you meet me at the door and take my cloak whilst telling me how wonderful it is to see me.

But then I remember that you do the same to everybody. You're just a gentleman, I've not met anybody with manners quite as perfect as yours. And the worst thing about remembering is that it only makes me adore you even more.

I don't adore you, not really. I _love_ you. I love everything about you. I love the way your face lights up when you smile, the way your eyes twinkle when you laugh. I love the sound of your voice, how you speak so softly and yet could silence a crowd. I love the way your brow crinkles when you are thoughtful, how your eyebrows knit together when Sirius tells inappropriate jokes, and how a moment later your lips begin to curve up at the edges not matter how hard you try to stop them.

I love your modesty, no matter to what dizzying heights it soars. True, it is probably what has blinded you in the first place, but I like a challenge. I'd like the reward better still.

I love the way you say my name. Even my first name. And I love the way I think myself silly and girly for even thinking such a thing, because in truth it isn't very silly. In truth it means I really am in love. Because love is a bit silly, isn't it?

It's silly that I love somebody who doesn't even notice me.

And yet I would not have it any other way, because you can't close your eyes forever. Someday you're going to grow tired of the dark. And when you do, when you open your eyes and truly see me, these past few months of waiting will finally be over.

And when they are, I doubt I'll be able to keep myself from apparating to the roof and shouting to the world that I love you. And everybody will hear me. _You_ will hear me. And I will never be invisible ever again.


	2. Remus

_Note: Thanks to my reviewers! I've decided to tag on another chapter. I might add a third if I can get round to it!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making any profit from this piece of writing._

**Invisible Part 2**

I am the sort of person who is easy to miss. I blend in with the crowd, nobody sees me, the one who walks in the shadows with his hands deep in his pockets and his head bent low. It's been that way all my life and I'm resigned to it being that way. It doesn't bother me, truth be told, I never was one to be the center of attention, I'm happy to simply be me. It's true.

It used to be true.

And it's ironic, don't you think, that the one time I hope to grab somebody's attention I suddenly appear to be invisible to them?

I'm invisible to you. Sometimes I think you don't realise I even exist.

You see me to a degree, as a colleague or perhaps even a friend of sorts. I've sat next to you at every Order meeting for as long as I can remember, I made you breakfast last week when you slept in one of the spare rooms, we talk about all manner of things over cups of tea or coffee or a slice of Molly's Victoria sponge – your work at the Ministry, the Order, what to do with Sirius, what we got up to when we were at school, just what Snape puts on his hair to make it so greasy - you smile and laugh with me and yet I'm sure you have no idea what I think of you. You have no idea I really like you because you're so completely blind.

A few times I've caught myself being foolish enough to think that you might not be quite as oblivious as you first seem; when you catch me looking at you during meetings and offer me a covert smile before resuming your attempts to pretend Alastor isn't boring, or when you burst into the kitchen when I'm eating my lunch to announce that we have been paired for Guard Duty again (which is always such good luck because I only dare fix it a few times or risk somebody noticing). You half skip across the room, narrowly avoiding tripping over your feet, and your expression is so utterly delighted and enthusiastic that I think you must truly like me better than everybody else.

But then I remember that you do the same to everybody. You're just young and bubbly, I've not met anybody with quite as much zest for life as you. And the worst thing about remembering is that it only makes me adore you even more.

I don't adore you, not really. I love you. I love everything about you. I love the way your eyes crinkle at the edges when you laugh, the way your lips curve so perfectly when you smile. I love your vibrant clothes and even more vibrant hair and it is all I can do not to try and tangle my fingers in it. I love the way your bottom lip catches between your teeth when you are thoughtful, how your dark eyes glisten when you are mischievous or daring. I love the way it is so easy to talk to you.

I love your acceptance, no matter to what dizzying heights it soars. True, it is probably what has deluded me in the first place, but I'm a glutton for punishment. I know nothing more than friendship can ever come of this, but I'd rather have you as a friend than not at all.

I love the way you say my name. The way you tag _wotcher_ on the beginning to make it sound so natural that it's bordering on domestic. And I love the way I think myself silly and downright ridiculous for even thinking such a thing, because in truth it isn't very silly. In truth it means I really am in love. Because love is a bit silly, isn't it?

It's silly that I love somebody who doesn't even notice me.

And yet I would not have it any other way, because this is the closest I can ever get. Someday you might notice that I stare at you too often, or for too long. You might guess what I feel. And when that happens I will feel both glad and despairing. I will be glad to have you know that somebody loves you as deeply and completely as I do., and if I am absurdly lucky you might just feel something similar But then I shall despair. I'm too old for you, too poor and much too dangerous. No matter what you feel about me it shall have to end the same way. I will have to be invisible once again.


	3. Tonks 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making any profit from this piece of writing._

**Invisible Part 3**

I am the person you find impossible to miss. You can spot me in a crowd from a mile off, that's me, the one you're always waiting for, the one so bright it makes you smile. It's been that way for just a little while and I love it. The best part is that I'm not attention seeking, I'm just being me. It's true. And you spot me all the same.

It will always be true. And you will never miss me.

And it's ironic, don't you think, that the one person I make an effort for would still pick me out if I'd made no effort at all?

You are always with me. Sometimes I think you don't realise that other people exist.

We still sit next to each other at every Order meeting we attend, you hold my hand under the table. I steal your cups of tea when you're not looking and when you notice I've left lipstick upon the rim you smile and don't bother to ask if I would like my own cup, you know I'd rather share yours. We still have our chats, but we have our silences too, because kissing and talking are difficult to combine. Sometimes we stay up late with Sirius, keep him company until he falls asleep before the fire having drunk too much at dinner. Every time the two of us sit upon the sofa, side by side, talking in whispers so as not to wake my cousin, and I stare into the warm glow of the fire and think that it's wonderfully romantic, especially when you let me drape my legs across your lap and, between amused glances at our softly snoring companion, we snatch another kiss or two before I have to leave to catch forty winks before work the next morning.

A few times I've caught myself thinking foolishly that you might not be quite as interested in me as you first seem; those few days around the full moon when you are suddenly distant, when Sirius makes a joke about us and you look so deeply embarrassed.

But then I remember that you've never had anybody quite like me. Nobody else loves you quite like I do, you just need a bit of time, a bit of confidence, one of these days you'll laugh at Sirius' jokes and let me patch you up after the full moon without a hint of shame at all. And the best thing about remembering this is that it makes me love you even more.

I don't just love you, not really. I love you more than life itself. I love the way you leave notes under my door when I stay in the spare room, I love the way you defend my choice of appearance in front of Sirius, no matter how outrageous I chose to look, mumbling under your breath that you think me beautiful, just loud enough for me to hear, but quiet enough for him to miss. I love the way you turn small actions into grand gestures, and yet have no idea just how grand you really are.

I still love your modesty, no matter to what dizzying heights it soars. And I was right, I do like the reward better still.

I love the way you say my name, the way only you do. Dora's just fine, useful in fact, because you can't call me Tonks once I've married you. I will marry you. You might not know it yet, but I will. And once this war is over we're going to live happily ever after one way or another. I dream of it sometimes, and each time I wake I love the way I think myself silly and girly for thinking life is a fairytale, because in truth it isn't very silly. In truth it means I really am in love. Because true love is a bit like a fairytale, isn't it?

It's silly that I thought you would never even notice me.

I should have known better than that. Because your eyes were open the whole entire time. And now the long months of waiting are finally over.

You still can't believe I didn't fall to my death from atop the Burrow roof. And you still can't believe I shouted at the top of my lungs that I love you. Everybody else might have thought I was drunk, or have been too busy shouting at me to come down to truly hear me. But you heard me. And I will never be invisible ever again.


	4. Remus 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making any profit from this piece of writing. _

**Invisible Part 4**

I am the sort of person who is easy to miss. I blend in with the crowd, nobody sees me, the one who walks in the shadow with his hands deep in his pockets and his head bent low. It's been that way all my life and I'm resigned to it being that way. It doesn't bother me, truth be told, I never was one to be the center of attention. I'm happy to simply be me. It's true.

It used to be true.

And it's ironic, don't you think, that when I'm on my own people take one look and think I must be the unluckiest soul alive, and yet when I pass them again a few minutes later with you on my arm, fresh out of work for the day, they probably think me the luckiest man on the planet. They probably don't even realise that they are looking at the same person.

And yet all those staring people seem invisible to you. Sometimes I think you don't realise they even exist.

We still sit next to each other at every Order meeting we attend, I hold your hand under the table and when you grow bored of listening to whoever is giving a report you make sure I'm not listening either, sliding your foot out of your shoe and attempting to see how much you can make me fidget by initiating an unwanted game of footsie under the table. I smile about it later, but worry at the time what others would say should they discover our game. You laugh at me whenever I pose this question to you, but it was me who was laughing when you missed my feet entirely, tucked safely under my chair, and gave Arthur a shock instead. We still have our chats, we talk about us, and as we do I find myself feeling unnaturally shy, then downright stunned yet elated when you interrupt any of my worries with a cheery shut up, Remus, before ensuring the silence is a lengthy one, throwing your arms around my neck and kissing me so fervently that I forget I fear for us in the slightest. You smile and laugh with me and every time I see you walking towards me I feel so relieved that you know exactly what I think of you. You know I love you because you were never blind as I first thought.

A few times I've caught myself foolishly thinking that you might not be quite as interested in me as you first seem, those times Alastor rants about the Ministry's plans for legislation against dark creatures like me, when I awake after the full moon and for a short time wish I could curl up and die because I'm living in a fantasy world where young, beautiful witches fall in love with monsters and don't care they are worthless and needy and completely unsuitable for any sort of relationship at all, and I know that someday I'll have to wake up from this dream. Then there are those evenings gathered around the wireless, listening to you giggle with Hestia about some man half my age I've never heard of, who apparently has eyes to die for, and I want to burst out laughing at myself and how utterly deluded I have become.

But then I remember the way you go quiet on occasion, frowning deeply as we sit and talk, before turning to fix me with such seriousness in your dark eyes that I believe every word when you reach to take hold of my hand and whisper: You do know I love you, don't you? That it's the absolute truth? And every time, when I tell you of course I do, I know that I could not possibly be lying to you. And the best thing about remembering those moments is that it makes me love you even more.

I don't just love you, not really. I love you more than anything in this world. I love the way you brighten up my day by simply smiling at me, I love the way you are completely unabashed by Sirius' insinuations about the two of us and even look pleased. I love the way you creep up behind me when I'm sitting at the table, throwing your arms around my neck and leaning to press your lips to my cheek with a greeting so cheery that I forget how despairing the newspaper report I am reading is. I love the way you are so completely casual around me that it is almost as though I've known you forever, and yet have no idea just how wonderful it makes me feel.

I still love your acceptance, no matter to what dizzying heights it soars. True, it is probably what makes me still think myself deluded on occasion, but when I do manage to convince myself that somebody like you really can exist, can love me, then I allow myself to feel a little smug.

Very smug. Oh yes, very smug indeed.

I love the way you say my name. Or rather the way you don't. Cup of tea, love? I said do you want a cup of tea, love? Hello? Are you even listening to me, Sweetheart?

Of course I'm listening, and what a glorious sound I hear. You probably think me slightly slow, staring blankly at you for long moments when my mind just wanders off to do a lap of triumph around my head. And I love the way I think myself silly for simply gawping at you like some sort of schoolboy with a crush, because in truth it isn't very silly. In truth it means I really am in love. Because true love is a bit like being young again, isn't it?

It's silly that I thought you would never even notice me.

I should have known better than that. Because your eyes were open the whole entire time. And now I can feel gloriously glad that you know what I think of you, that you know how deeply and completely I love you, and that I am in actual fact the luckiest man alive. And perhaps some days I do despair, some days I tell myself I might just ruin both of our lives, but when I see you again I don't let myself quite believe it. I tell myself that you love me, and I will never have to be invisible again.


	5. Tonks 3

_Note: This one didn't quite work out how I planned...it was hard to stick to the same format! But I hope somebody likes it! _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making any profit from this piece of writing._

**Invisible Part 5**

I am the person you try to miss. You can spot me in a crowd from a mile off, that's me, the one that makes your gaze fall to the floor, the one so bright it makes you sigh. It's been that way for a while and I hate it. The worst part is that I find myself desperate enough to resort to attention seeking, and that's not really me. It's true.

It used to be true.

And it's ironic, don't you think, that a character trait I despise is suddenly one that seems to define me in my attempts not to be invisible?

I'm invisible to you. Sometimes I think you don't realise I even exist.

For somebody who doesn't exist, I interact with you a great deal. I still sit next to you at every Order meeting we attend, I put my hand in your lap and you rest your own hand limp atop it. We make each other cups of tea, and you take yours into the sitting room and bury your nose in a book. We still have our chats. We talk about Harry, the Order, the War, and then I talk of love and you smile vaguely and mumble incoherently under your breath. We've stayed up late without Sirius, missed his company as we sit before the fire and drink too much after dinner. Each time the two of us sit upon the sofa, side by side, in complete and utter silence, and I'd stare into the warm glow of the fire and think I'd like to snatch the fire whiskey from your grasp and throw it into the flames, watch them roar fiercely and shock you. I want to know you're human, that you can feel shock, that you can feel anything at all.

A few times I've caught myself thinking foolishly that you might not be quite as unfeeling as you first seem; when you arrive late for meetings and lean to press a kiss atop my head as you hurry past to your chair, when you serve me absurd portions of Molly's lasagne, smiling and reminding me that I'm eating for two now.

But then I remember that when you do those things we are always in company. You're just an actor, I've not met anybody so meticulous about keeping up appearances as you. And the worst thing about remembering is that it only makes me admire you even more.

I don't admire you, not really. I hate you. I hate everything about you. I hate the way you took the happiest moment of my life and made it the most despairing instead. I hate the way I can reach for your hand and yet never reach you at all. I hate the way I try to reason with you and yet you don't seem to listen, let alone think about what I have to say. I hate the way you talk to Molly about my baby, as if it were mine alone instead of being ours. I hate the way you hate yourself, the way you think yourself so completely unworthy of me, of our unborn child, of happiness.

I hate the way you never say my name. Not even my first name. And I hate the way I think myself silly for getting hung up about such a thing, because in truth it isn't very silly. In truth it means I'm still in love. Because no matter how much I hate you I love you a hundred times more.

It's silly that I love somebody who doesn't even notice me.

And yet I would not have it any other way, because you can't stop what you've started. Someday I'm going to give birth to our child, you're going to be a father. And when you are, when you rock our baby to sleep, tuck it up into bed and kiss it goodnight, you're going to realise I was right all along. There will be no child as lucky as ours, having a father like you. And you are going to feel lucky too.

And when that happens, when we defy those who are against us once again, prove our critics wrong, I'll take one look at you, at our child, and I'll tell the world that there's no stopping us.

We'll give society the finger. And I will be proud never to be invisible ever again.


	6. Remus 3

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

**Invisible Part 6**

I am the sort of person who is easy to miss. I blend in with the crowd, nobody sees me, the one who walks in the shadows with his hands deep in his pockets and his head bent low. It's been that way yet again for a while now and I'm deserving that it be that way. It makes me glad, truth be told, because I'm ashamed enough without the world knowing what I've done too. I'm morally damned. It's true.

It's still true.

And it's ironic, don't you think, that the one time I feel as though my foolishness ought have me thrown to the lions I suddenly appear to be invisible to them?

I wish I were invisible to you. Sometimes I think you ought pretend I don't even exist.

For somebody who ought not exist I interact with you a great deal. We still sit next to each other at every Order meeting we attend, you put your hand in my lap and such simple gestures shock me to the core, I panic at the thought of what I've done to you and it is all I can do to rest my hand atop of yours. We make each other cups of tea, and when you smile in thanks I feel such despair that you might come to your senses, might never smile at me ever again. We still have our chats. We talk about Harry, the Order, the War, and then you talk of love and I find myself conflicted, unable to know quite what to say. We've stayed up late without Sirius, missed his company as we sit before the fire and drink too much after dinner. Each time the two of us sit upon the sofa, side by side, in complete and utter silence, and I stare into the warm glow of the fire and think if the flames were to consume me I'd feel burning relief, and I wish it would not shock you, I wish you would feel nothing at all.

A few times I've caught myself thinking foolishly that you might not be quite as naïve as you first seem, when I overhear your hushed conversations in the kitchen of your parents' house, serious whisperings about finances and borrowing a galleon or two when the time comes, when you pause midway through arguing with me to fix me with such a resentful look that I panic and apologize for anything and everything on the spot.

But then I remember that when you do these things your uncertainty runs only skin deep. Deep down you're just arrogant. I've never met anybody so convinced of their own argument than you. Those hushed discussions with your mother turn into shouting matches and whatever I say falls on deaf ears. You can't be wrong, such a thing is inconceivable to you. And the worst thing about remembering this is that it only makes me admire you even more.

I don't admire you, not really. I hate you. I hate everything about you. I hate the way you made me fall in love with you, made me ruin you, made me damn myself. I hate the way you act as though nothing is wrong, as if we're going to be some sort of normal, happy family when I know that cannot be. I hate the way you tell me you understand my feelings, and yet then ignore them and prove yourself wrong. I hate the way you tell me I'm going to be a good father when such a thing is impossible by default, I'm already a bad father for becoming one in the first place. I hate your enthusiasm. I hate the way it wears me out, and yet I can only pretend to sleep and listen to your attempts to smother your tears into the pillow beside me.

I hate the way you never say my name. I don't feel worthy of Love or Darling. And I hate the way I think myself silly for feeling such pain about such a thing, because in truth it isn't very silly. In truth it means I'm still in love. Because no matter how much I hate you I love you a hundred times more.

It's silly that I love somebody who shouldn't even notice me.

And yet I would not have it any other way, because I can't stop what I've started. Someday your going to give birth to our child, you're going to be a mother. And when you are, when you rock our baby to sleep, tuck it up into bed and kiss it goodnight, I'm going to have to accept that I can't change what I've done. There will be no child as lucky as ours, having a mother like you. And I'm going to watch you feel lucky too.

And when that happens, when you are naïve enough to think that we'll live happily ever after, I'll take one look at you, at our child, and I'll tell the world that there's no stopping me. I'm going to protect the two of you in all and any way possible, preserve the little fantasy that you so insist upon. And I might feel a shred of redemption, and not fear never being invisible again.


	7. Tonks 4

_Note: Keeping to the same format is becoming very difficult! Good thing there is only one chapter left after this, then! It's not turned out perfectly but I hope somebody likes it anyway! _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. _

**Invisible Part 7**

I am the person you almost missed. You can spot me in a crowd from a mile off, that's me, the one that made you run for the hills, the one so bright the hills didn't shield you. You've been back for just a little while and I love it. The best part is that I've stopped attention seeking, I'm just being me again. It's true. And you spot me all the same.

It will be true for eternity. And you will never miss me, nor our little bundle of joy.

And it's ironic, don't you think, that the mere phrase run for the hills brought such panic a mere week ago, when now it makes me smile because you say you'd shout your joy from atop them?

You'd spend forever with me just sat upon my mother's sofa, our son in your lap, if you had half a chance. Sometimes I think you don't realise anything else even exists.

I hear accounts of Order meetings from you second hand now, I have done so for weeks. I watch you shuffle through the front door and we sit up late together before the fire in the living room, clutching our hands together as we talk of the War, of the Order, of Harry, and just how black the days have grown. Your grip my hands too tightly, sometimes they hurt, but the dull pain is oddly reassuring and I grip you twice as hard back. But then I talk of Teddy, what a bright smile he offered me at lunchtime that day, and though our grips remain desperate and fearful we both smile ourselves as if we had not a care in the world. We talk of our little family and of love, and when I fall sleep with my head upon your shoulder, your lips pressing a soft kiss to my temple, the last thing I see are the flames in the grate and I think to myself that it will take more than the gathering darkness to snuff our fire out.

A few times I've caught myself thinking foolishly that we might not be quite as impenetrable as we first seem; when you come home later than you promise and I feel such unbearable dread at the thought that you could be lost to us, when you finally arrive back having torn my nerves to shreds and I cannot help but cling to you for a moment when you leave again a few hours later, when I hear Teddy crying having awoken from a nap and I shudder to think that one day we might never be here to soothe him.

But then I remember those glorious moments when we lose ourselves in our own little world, just the three of us, and I remind myself that we've already won. Nothing can take those moments away from us, they can strike us both dead if they truly wish. There will always be people who care for our son, and they'd let him know we loved him greater still. We might die for him, we'd do it in a heartbeat and we'd be glad of it too. And if that isn't a life well lived, I don't know what is. The best thing about remembering this is that it makes me love you even more.

I don't just love you, not really. I love you eternally. I love the way you sit beside Teddy's cradle and read him bedtime stories, even though he is much too young to understand them. I love the way I catch you smiling at me and when I offer you a questioning look you simply shrug and smile even more. I love how close you hold me at night, not moving a muscle when I fall asleep so as not to disturb me. I love the way that I awake a while later to find you still awake, gazing through the darkness towards our baby's cradle, the same small smile forever on your lips. I love the way you tell me that you love me, that you love our son. I love that he is ours now, and not mine alone.

I love the way you say my name. Or rather that you don't. Don't worry, Teddy, Mummy's getting out of bed this time. Where did Mummy put your blanket? Stay asleep won't you little one, so Mummy and I can have a cuddle. Look after Mummy for me, whilst I'm gone. I love the way I think myself silly for thinking it so wonderful, because in truth it isn't very silly. In truth it means I love you, and each day I love you a hundred times more.

It's silly that I once thought you would never come back to us.

I should have known better than that. Because if your honour hadn't brought you racing back, your love for us always would.

And we'll never be parted ever again, not truly, for such great and true love is not something that Voldemort can comprehend. There is no way to destroy it, to destroy us, so let him come. Let all of them just try. Because they can never break us, never make us disappear. We shall never be invisible ever again.


	8. Remus 4

I am the sort of person who is easy to miss. I blend in with the crowd, nobody sees me, the one who walks in the shadows with his hands deep in his pockets and his head bent low. It's been that way for a long time now and with times like these I'm glad to have it that way. It makes me glad, truth be told, because ambiguity is best for me, for us, for our son. It's what keeps us safe. It's true.

It used to be true.

And it's ironic, don't you think, that I should stick out like a sore thumb to our enemies because of our defiance, that Bellatrix should be so obsessed with killing us, and yet since my return I can sometimes barely think of them at all? I can think of nothing besides you and our baby, so much so that I gave only fleeting concern to my near miss yesterday, that Killing Curse missing my shoulder by inches. And it is more ironic still, don't you think, that my preoccupation with keeping our family alive and well might in actual fact cause me to tear a Killing Curse sized hole right through the middle of it?

Yet I think you worse than me by far. We spend hours sat upon your mother's sofa, our son in my lap, and as we gaze down at him, occasionally glancing with smiles at one another, I sometimes think you don't realise that anything else even exists.

I attend Order meetings alone and leave you at home with the baby now, I have done so for weeks. When I come home you are always sat waiting for me upon the stairs. You wait until I have hung my cloak up by the door and then you come and stand before me, reaching to cup my face in your hands. Your staring eyes just then are painfully intense, as if you are attempting to read my mind, know any bad news before I am forced to admit it verbally. Once satisfied that all is well – or at least as well as it can be – you bury your face in my chest and let out such a sigh that your whole body slumps. Then, no matter what news I have brought, you look up at me again and offer the brightest of all announcements:

I love you, you know.

We shuffle off to sit into the living room, our hands clutched together as we talk of the War, of the Order, of Harry, and just how bleak the days have grown. Sometimes we cannot help but sound terribly grim. But then you talk of Teddy, how much he splashed and giggled when you bathed him before bed that evening, and though the sinking feeling never truly fades we both smile to ourselves as if we had not a care in the world. We talk of our little family and of love, and when you fall asleep, your head upon my shoulder as you hug my arm to your chest, I sit stock still so as not to disturb you, staring into the flames in the grate opposite. And then I think to myself that there is always light after dark, and we need only wait a while for the dawn.

A few times I've caught myself thinking foolishly that the inevitable light might not be quite as inevitable as faith would have us believe; when you put Teddy to bed and he smiles so brightly yet it reduces you to tears, and for a moment I pretend that I can't hear you because I feel so hopeless that I can't possibly tell you that everything shall be okay. When I look around the table at Order meetings and realise just how few in number we are these days, when I leave the house for under and hour and return to have you throw your arms around me, we kiss so fiercely that I recall just how desperate life has become.

But then I remember those wonderful moments when we lose ourselves in our own little world, just the three of us, and I remind myself that our brief moments of weakness only make us determined to be stronger. And we have such strength, such unity that they can never truly bring us down. They can strike us both dead if they truly wish, it won't break our union, it won't even scratch it. There will always be people who care for our son, and they'd let him know just how much we loved him. We might die for him, we'd do it in a heartbeat and we'd be glad of it too. And if that doesn't prove the strength of our family, I don't know what does. The best thing about remember this is that it makes me love you even more.

I don't just love you, not really, I love you unconditionally. I love the way you wander up and down the landing, humming a lullaby to Teddy long after he has fallen asleep. I love the way you pause in whatever you are busy doing when I pass you by in the house, so that you may throw your arms around me and give me a kiss. Sometimes I think it a wonder that I ever make it from one side of a room to the other. I love how close I can hold you at night, so close and calm that I might delude myself that I can keep you safe, if but for a few short hours. I love the way that if Teddy screams and bawls for all he is worth, you never grow weary, instead you comment cheerily that he has true Tonks genes for sure, which you say is useful because somebody ought make up for his daddy's mild demeanor. I love the way you tell me that you love me, that you love our son, and I love the thought that he is ours.

I love the way you say my name. Or rather that you don't. You can stop crying now Teddy Sweetheart, because look, Daddy's home! Let Daddy give you a cuddle, so I can run a bath. I think you might just have worn Daddy out, Teddy, what do you suppose he'll say when I remind him it's his turn to change your nappy? You'll a good boy won't you, whilst Daddy is away. I love the way I think myself silly for thinking it so wonderful, because in truth it isn't very silly. In truth it means I love you, and each day I love you a hundred times more.

It's silly that I once thought I could never come back to you.

I should have known better than that. Because if Harry's frank words hadn't brought me racing back, my longing and love for you always would.

And we'll never be parted ever again, not truly, for such wonderful and true love is not something that Voldemort can comprehend. There is no way to destroy it, to destroy us, so let him come. Let all of them just try. Because they can never break us, never make us disappear. We shall never be invisible ever again.


	9. Teddy

I am the sort of person who is difficult to miss. I can stand out in a crowd, if I choose to, the one Harry Potter mentions at every speech he gives, the son of two members of the Order of the Phoenix, the werewolf's son. The War Orphan, a symbol of what everybody was fighting for. It's been that way all my life and I am used to it being like that. It makes me glad, truth be told, because somebody had to be put upon a pedestal beside my godfather. Somebody had to show the war for what it really was, and if letting my grandmother coax me into some smart clothes and making me attend a few boring Ministry functions to listen to Harry speak helped to do it, then so be it. Looking back on my childhood, Harry always says he never meant it to be that way. He hadn't wanted me to be so singled out. It just sort of happened.

It used to happen.

And it's ironic, don't you think that years later after all that effort, people take one look at me and simply think:_ I know that man from somewhere_. They never quite know where. I've been labelled as the drummer from the Weird Sisters, a distant relation of somebody's brother-in-law and an old classmate from Durmstrang Institute. And it's more ironic still, don't you suppose, that when I correct them with my name they finally recall who I am: Teddy Lupin. Harry Potter's boy. They never say I'm _yours_.

Sometimes I think Harry and Ginny are worse by far. Sometimes I wonder if they've forgotten I'm not actually theirs. Even now, when I've left home and am on the verge of marriage and even beginning a family of my own, there isn't a Sunday that passes without me going to dinner at the Potters. It's been years since I've bothered telling them that I'm coming, but there is always a place set at the table for me anyway. Sometimes I wonder if, had you both lived, I would still be going round to Harry's every week. Perhaps you'd be going with me. Or perhaps I'd be going round to eat dinner with you instead.

Grown up as I am, I still imagine sitting around the table with you both. We chat about mundane, everyday things, what you got up to at work, Mum, or how things are between Victoire and I. You ask Mum to pass you the salt, Dad, and she promptly drops it. Gran always says she was clumsy. It spills out all over the floor and Mum sighs in exasperation as we laugh at her. You look so much younger when you laugh, Dad. Harry used to say you did. Mum can scowl for England, she does so then across the table at us and tells you, Dad, that she ought hex you for having a bad sense of humour. I tell her not to be so over-sensitive, even though I know it's all a joke, and remind her:

_I love you, you know_.

When I was younger I dreamt of you all the time. Dad reading me bedtime stories, Mum teaching me to ride a broom instead of Harry and the three of us going shopping in Diagon Alley for my school supplies, bickering about which house I was going to be sorted into. I ended up in your house, Mum. I don't think Dad would mind. After all if you hadn't been so loyal, Mum, you'd never have stood side by side with Dad and been so unwaveringly brave. Who needs Gryffindor Courage if loyalty can bring you strength like that?

A few times I've caught myself thinking foolishly that my dreaming and imaginings aren't enough; when I'd speak of you to the other children at school and they would ask: How do you know? When my imagination conjures up too many possibilities and I realise that I don't know which one is most true to the two of you, when Harry and Gran packed me off to my first year at Hogwarts and imagining you standing on the platform beside them as the train drew away only brought tears to my eyes.

But then I remember the great sacrifices that you made for me, all that you did to keep me safe and to give me the chance for a better future. I remind myself that it doesn't matter if I can't guess what sorts of food you did and didn't like or know for sure what you would think of my girlfriend. None of that truly matters because I know the most important thing of all: You both loved me. More than life itself. The best thing about remembering this is that it makes me love you even more.

I don't just love you, not really. I love you unquestioningly. I love every shred of your memory that I can lay my hands upon, every passed down possession, every frozen memory captured in a photograph, every trait or habit that I'm told I must have inherited from one of you. I love your struggle and I love your triumph and the very idea of the two of you and all that you stand for is nothing to my mind but glorious. Glorious. There can surely be no other word grand enough for my love for you both, my pride in you and all the others. I hope you know exactly what you have done. It can't have been more than a mere notion back then, a vain hope because you knew you might have died for me and have Voldemort triumph all the same. But you won. You truly did. And the world is a better place for it. It is perfectly mundane and carefree and the worst I have to worry about is whether or not I'll sleep through my alarm clock and be late for work in the mornings. Sometimes I look at my life and wonder if you could have ever fitted into it, if you could have coped with such normality. Perhaps you never would have, perhaps it would have all been far too risk-free. My world is nothing like yours. Your world was made of nightmares that I can barely imagine. Sometimes it makes you seem like a pair of mythical beings, so far removed from everything else and able to cope with such things that I cannot comprehend. You're not like those who survived the War. Or rather they aren't like you. Not anymore. They're all so normal that I cannot imagine them flung into conflict. Not like the two of you. Not like my heroes whose whole lives revolved around struggle. I can't imagine either of you during peacetime, even if you enjoyed a few years of it every now and again.

I love the way everybody still says your names, almost as if you were still alive. If Tonks ever heard you say such a thing she'd have laughed herself hoarse! Where did you learn a trick like that? Remus taught me, years back. You have your mother's eyes, did you know that Ted? Keep on growing like that young man and you'll be as tall as your father! You're a proper Lupin, Teddy. You read more books than you eat hot dinners...

That last one was always one of my favourites because I couldn't decide which of it's meanings was more significant; that you read a lot of books, Dad, or that you didn't always manage regular hot dinners.

I love the way I think myself silly for feeling such a leap in my chest every time somebody mentions one of you in passing, because in truth it isn't very silly. In truth it means I love you, and it doesn't matter that I have no memories of you myself, I'll love you forever and borrow everybody elses'.

It's silly that I once thought I didn't know either one of you as well as I should.

I should have known better than that. Because if your sacrifices weren't telling enough, your obvious love for me would be.

And we never have and never will truly be parted, for such love is something that the three of us wholly understand. There is no way to destroy it, to destroy us. Not even death managed that. You shall never be invisible to me. Not for a single second. Not ever.

**Finish.**


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